


Dark Water

by reflectiveless



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Come Inflation, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, Extremely Dubious Consent, Inflation, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflectiveless/pseuds/reflectiveless
Summary: A storm is coming and everyone is acting a bit on edge. John is having nightmares of a monstrous creature coming for him. Sherlock has a mysterious age-old fear that’s come back to haunt him. Mycroft is keeping secrets that could explain everything. And as always, Lestrade is frustrated by everyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and reviews give me life. Please leave some. The more you leave, the dirtier I will make this. I promise.

Prologue: 

It was on the battlefield that Captain John Watson first dreamt of dark water. 

His tent and bedding seemed to fade away as water slowly surrounded him, drenching his clothes as the murky depths began to claim him as its own. John gasped for air that wasn’t there and felt the sting of salty water trying to flood his throat. He kicked desperately at the current to find the surface, seeing only a vague glimmer somewhere far above. His breath was running out as he neared what he could only assume was moonlight. But mere inches away from breaching the surface, he was ripped back down. Something perfectly smooth had wrapped around his ankle and was pulling with a force even a soldier couldn’t compete with. John quickly maneuvered himself around to pull the thing off, barely able to make out what the dark tentacle was. As soon as his mind could comprehend it, several more suddenly shot out all around him and enveloped him in their pure blackness. 

John shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely make out what his tent mate was saying to him. 

“Oy, Watson! You gonna respond or what?”

John looked up at that, still in a confused daze from his sudden consciousness, “Sorry… what was that?”

The soldier only rolled his eyes, “I asked what you were havin such a fuss about in your sleep?”

John finally managed to catch his breath, seeing that he was dry and out of harms way now. “I was drowning.” It still seemed so impossibly real. 

“You’re pretty safe from that here.” The soldier gave a small chuckle. “No chance of drowning in a damn desert.”

Safe. That was a funny thing to say when they were still in a war zone. But still, John relaxed a bit from those words. He was as far away from water as he could be with very little chance of coming near a large body of it any time soon. 

It was later that same day that Captain John Watson was shot in left shoulder, the bullet narrowly missing his heart, and sent back to England on discharge. 

Chapter 1

Despite his near death encounter, things had begun to pick up for Dr. John Watson. Life had moved rather fast when he found a new flat and perhaps the world’s strangest flat-mate, but the action suited him just fine and before he even knew it, he found himself complacent in the flat of 221b with a man he could only describe as positively inhuman. 

There was nothing ordinary about the detective, from odd eating habits to his exceptional brilliance. Though there were times where for a few moments, John wondered if it was more then a case of his flat-mate being a tad eccentric. When Sherlock would flash that deceiving smile of his to get his way, were his teeth a tad too pointed? Or was he just being ridiculous and looking far too much into it? He knew of course that must be the case, but still, John couldn’t help feel a bit uneasy at times when those marbled sea foam eyes were on him. 

* . *. * 

John had just sat down to a nice hot cuppa when Sherlock ran past him in a flash, grabbing his coat and scarf. John had to hold onto his cup with both hands to prevent it from spilling. 

“I suppose you have a case then?”

“We do,” Sherlock flashed him one of those grins that could make John walk on water if he so desired it. 

John sighed and put his mug down. At least there was never dull moment anymore. “Alright alright, let me grab a jumper at least.” He stretched a bit as he stood up. It was far too early in the morning for a case. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“The Thames.” Sherlock’s face was illuminated by the glow of his phone as he typed something out on it. 

This struck John as particularly odd as the flat was usually well lit. He glanced toward the window; the sky was nothing but dark clouds. Of course it was probably about to rain, making the river extra high- John froze. He had had that same dream again last night. The one where he was drowning. How had he forgotten that when he woke up?

“John?” Sherlock cocked his head as he looked at him, phone still in hand. “We really need to get there before any evidence is washed away.”

“Right, of course…” John went to get his jumper and paused again. Maybe he could just tell him he wasn’t up to it. That something had come up at work or he was getting a bit sick and shouldn’t be out in this weather. No, that wouldn’t work at all. Sherlock would of course see right through any lie he came up with and he really didn’t want Sherlock prodding about as to why he didn’t want to go. That brilliant git had to make everything so difficult. 

* * *

Sherlock had held it in long enough for the cab to arrive at the crime scene before allowing himself to laugh. “John, you look utterly ridiculous. Its not even raining yet and you look like you’ve prepared for the storm of the century.” 

John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a ridiculous yellow raincoat, boots, and a hat. “Maybe I just didn’t want to get soaking wet. Your coat is going to get drenched.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Its just fabric, it will dry. And your boots wont save you from drowning.” He smirked and stepped out onto the muddy shore. 

The moment he had, he could smell it. Practically sense it in the salty air around them. It was that tingly sensation that meant a storm was coming. The Thames wasn’t quite the ocean, but it was connected to it, and Sherlock’s body ached for it.

John clenched his jaw at Sherlock’s rude remark. He wasn’t getting anywhere near the water if he could avoid it, but as he shuffled out of the cab, he noticed Sherlock’s odd expression. 

“Everything alright?” He nearly put a hand on the detective’s shoulder, but something held him back. 

Sherlock was staring at the water intensely, almost as though he was searching for something. His gaze snapped back to John in a nearly startling speed. “Stop dodeling, we need to hurry.”

John huffed, “You’re the one taking in the scenery.” He muttered. 

Forensics was already there, gathering as much as they could. Other investigators frantically searched the shore in case evidence had washed up elsewhere, but it was a race against the tide. A man lay nude, face down on the beach, body covered in lacerations. 

“Some of these are post mortem, but most were before he died. Tortured?” Sherlock glanced at Lestrade, who seemed to be a bit of a nervous wreck. 

“I really need you to figure this one out fast. I can’t keep the body here for more then a few minutes longer. It could rain any time now and I need this body on route to the morgue before that.” Greg fidgeted a bit with a notepad he was holding. 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit. “Its not the first body you’ve found? There’s at least one other, more likely more that you think are connected.”

“Stop deducing me or whatever you call it and focus on him,” Lestrade gestured to the dead man. “I’ll tell you the rest once he’s on the road.” 

Sherlock was annoyed, he wanted far more details first, but they would have to wait. “His wrists were tied behind his back for an extended amount of time.” The body still bore the rope burn on his wrists, his arm muscles clearly strained from the unnatural position. There were multiple knives used to inflict his injuries, though the main one appears to have been a fish gutting knife.” 

Lestrade was writing everything down, but he wanted something more solid. Some clue that could actually result in a lead. 

“The wounds appear to all be of different varieties though. Some deep, others shallow. Most are right handed, but a few were made with a left hand. There were multiple attackers.”

“Like a gang?” John came a bit closer. The body had clearly been in the water a while. Seaweed and barnacles clung to him. But it had been cold enough to partially preserve the remains. 

Sherlock bent down closer to the body. There was something sticking out of the man’s left shoulder. “A fish hook?”

John shrugged, “A gang of fishermen?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He does have a wedding ring on. We should see if anyone reported a missing husband recently.” 

A drop of rain fell on Lestrade’s note pad. “Shit.” He really needed more time. This was the third body in three weeks. He didn’t want to find a fourth. “Bag it!” He called out as two forensics quickly got to work on taking the body away. 

“Some kid found him like this.” Greg groaned. “He could have been laying there all night. But now we have almost nothing to work with.”

“Something more could still wash up,” Sherlock was looking at the water again, eyes distant. 

“If it does, I’ll give you call. But I’m not sure how long I can keep people out here. Some big storm is supposed to come.”

John’s brow furrowed, “I never heard anything about a storm?”

“No one did, apparently. Just got reported this morning. Stealthed the weather satellites or something.”

“Odd.” John’s heart sped up a bit. In his dream where he was drowning, there always seemed to be storm. He had never feared the water or bad weather before, but these dreams were relentless. 

“Call us. We’re leaving.” Sherlock turned without so much as a goodbye, already switching his focus to his phone. 

John had to do a bit of a jog to catch up with those damn long legs of his. “Hold on! We only just got here, they might find something any minute?”

“Then they’ll call.” Sherlock was typing something out. 

“Yea but… well, its still rather rude.” John genuinely liked him, but even then it was difficult at best to deal with Sherlock’s lack of social understanding.

The detective didn’t respond. He was busy huffing at new message he had received. John attempted to hail a cab as he looked down to see what it said. But as he looked back up, a black car had approached. 

“How does he even know where we are?” John got in, knowing it was of course sent by Mycroft. 

“He always knows… probably Lestrade though.” Sherlock tossed his phone down, looking rather defeated as he slumped back the seat, looking at the ceiling.

“What does he want from us now?”

“Nothing, actually. Except perhaps to kill me with boredom.” His eyes finally returned to John’s. Those terrifyingly over analytical eyes. “He’s meeting us at the flat. I’m about to be on house arrest.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mycroft was indeed inside of 221b already, grasping the handle of his umbrella as always as he sat on their couch. 

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” John tisked, annoyed that Mycroft thought he could just summon them back whenever he desired and come in uninvited. 

Mycroft wore a tight smile, barely showing a sign that he had heard him. “I’ll need you to stay here for a while without going out.”

Sherlock immediately went into a scowl. “Why?!”

John flinched, he hadn’t expected him to react so dramatically. 

“Every time, you do this! Its absurd! I have cases to solve, work to be done. You can’t just pop into my life when you like and pretend you have any hold over me!” Sherlock already looked as though he was close to throwing something. 

Mycroft calmly stood up, twirling the handle of the umbrella in his hands. “Because it would be far safer for you here.” 

“There is absolutely no merit to your ridiculous claim and you can’t keep me here.” Sherlock practically spat. 

“Hold on-” John wasn’t sure if he was actually hearing what he thought he was hearing. “ ‘Every time’ what?”

Neither brother spoke, they were locked into a staring match. 

“Not every time there’s a storm?” That actually would be absurd, Sherlock was right. 

“Brother, tell your friend to leave us for a moment.”

“Tell him yourself.” Sherlock wasn’t about to take the high road. 

Really? John thought, crossing his arms at both their childish behaviors. 

Mycroft caved, “Dr. Watson, would you mind if-” and of course Sherlock couldn’t resist cutting him off. 

“He’s staying.” His words were met with a somehow even more demanding look from the politician. “Anything you have to say to me, you may say in front of John.” Sherlock was really trying his luck this time. 

Mycroft’s mouth tightened all the more as he tapped the metal tip of his umbrella on the floor. “Not this.” 

Sherlock looked at John in a calculating manor. “And what about you?” He had turned his gaze back on Mycroft. “How will you ride out this stupid storm?” 

“In the safety of my home, as always.”

“You mean in isolation.” Sherlock shot back. 

John had the intense feeling that he was missing whatever this fight was actually about. 

“I don’t have time to tell you again. I must return home. If you… insist on something more substantial to base my claims on, I’m afraid you’ll have to let Dr. Watson leave us for some time.”

“You’re lying.” 

“Am I?” 

“Proof of what exactly?” John looked between them both. Did they seriously intend on leaving him in the dark? Both the Holmes’ seemed to be intentionally not looking his way now. 

“John,” Sherlock finally gave in, curiosity getting the better of him, “Would you make us some tea?” 

So it really was that serious. John sighed, knowing it wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that he was being left out of the loop again. Besides, maybe that daft genius would explain himself later once Mycroft was gone. “Fine, but I hope you realize that Sherlock and I don’t keep secrets from each other.” 

Sherlock didn’t respond. 

John tottered off to the kitchen, feeling rather uneasy about that. Was Moriarty back? He couldn’t imagine anything else that warranted such behavior from the two of them. He turned the sink on, letting the water rush down from the tap and into the kettle. The back spray hitting him just a bit. Even indoors it seemed almost impossible to stay dry. John set the kettle on the stove, not being intentionally quiet necessarily, but if he happened to hear Mycroft and Sherlock talking, that was hardly his fault. After all, there was nothing much to do as he waited for the water to heat up. 

But there was nothing. No angry shouts or outbursts. Nothing being thrown as he might have suspected. Not even whispers. John nearly peered around the corner of the kitchen to make sure they were still there when the kettle began whistling for him. Tea bags already in place, he poured three cups. The water turning dark from the brew. John felt his hands balling to fists at his sides, his uneasy feeling growing. He shook his head, needing to bring himself back out of this weird phobia he seemed to be developing. It was nothing more then a teacup and he needed to get ahold of himself. He carefully arranged the cups and a bowl of sugar on a tray before walking back towards the living room, making sure he didn’t announce his return. But there was no tail end of a muffled conversation to be caught. 

It looked as though neither of the two brothers had even moved. Sherlock was in his chair, his hands in his typical thinking position as looked at Mycroft with great intensity. Mycroft had a glimmer in his eyes, a nearly unperceivable twist at the corner of his mouth that gave away his amusement. What on earth had happened in the few moments that he was away, John wondered. 

“Tea.” He announced, setting the tray on the coffee table between the pair. 

There was the feint sight of lightening from their window, likely still quite far off from them. Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella, twirling it once before standing. “Thank you Dr. Watson, but I’m afraid I really must go.” He shot Sherlock a look. “Unless of course you would consider coming with, brother?” 

John rolled his eyes, “I highly doubt anything could get him to go with you.” 

Again, Sherlock was quiet, clearly considering the offer. John blinked; he never thought he would see the day that Sherlock would honestly take that seriously. 

“The flat is plenty safe and comfortable.” Now was John’s time to glare at the politician. He wanted Sherlock where he belonged, at home with him. He also wanted all this weird staring nonsense to stop. 

“I’ll stay in. For now.” Sherlock finally stood, shredding his coat off. 

John felt strangely relieved by that. Of course Sherlock wouldn’t leave over some silly storm. 

“You’re sure of this?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Its not only your own safety you should be considering.” John could have sworn that he glanced at him for a moment. 

“Everything will be fine.” Sherlock gave a dismissive hand gesture, which clearly displeased his brother. Sherlock huffed, “I’ll call if… if anything should come up.” 

“I suppose that’s the best I can expect from you. But if you wait too long, you may be on your own.” Mycroft warned before leaving. 

John frowned at the tea he had made that went untouched. “You gonna tell me what all that was about?”

“He’s… concerned about me.” Sherlock was looking out the window, gauging how much rain they were getting. 

“He always is,” John went for one of the cups, not wanting to waste his efforts. “But why this time? Its just a bit of rain. Besides, I know you too well, you’re obviously not staying in just because he told you too.”

Sherlock closed the curtains. “John, you may want to avoid me for a bit.”

“Hm?” John looked up from his tea, not sure what Sherlock was talking about. If he were afraid of some storm, surely he would want him to stay in with him as well. 

“Maybe even stay away from the flat a bit. Find some woman to take on dates and stay at her place for a few nights.” 

Sherlock was encouraging him to go on a date? Now he knew something was wrong. “I realize you don’t know a lot about dating, but that’s not exactly how it works. It’s not really a hotel situation.” John tried to rack his mind around why Sherlock should stay in and avoid people during this weather. “Are you prone to illness or something? I really don’t mind. Besides, I am a doctor after all, it would be best if I was here to take care of you.” 

Sherlock’s eyes flickered up to John’s at that before looking away again. “I’m not sure if this really falls under something you could help with.” 

John’s worry subsided a bit at that, so it was just some sickness he was prone to or something along those lines. “Its still better to have someone help take care of you then to be on your own, isn’t it?” 

“Perhaps,” Sherlock seemed unsure. He let out a little growl, what was he even thinking, the odds of it happening seemed utterly impossible. And yet… what Mycroft had showed him had left him speechless. If it was true, if he was in fact what he feared he could be, he would of course have to tell John. There would be no other way around it if he wanted to keep him as a friend. Besides, there was no reason to believe he was dangerous, it was just Mycroft over reacting again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, there is gonna be a lost of Mystrade in this. Like... hot damn.

Chapter 3

John couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock was exceptionally fidgety the following morning. He seemed to be keeping tabs on the storm at every chance he could possibly get, though he refused to let John open the curtain. 

“It may be a few days before its passed,” John idly washed the dishes as Sherlock stewed in misery at the kitchen table, grunting in response. 

The detective’s phone pinged a moment later. 

You never came for the case file yesterday. –GL

You never called to say you had more evidence. –SH

Well, I have some now, plus the files on the other two victims. I’m too tied up at the yard right now to bring them over, but you can pick them up any time. –GL

Sherlock glanced at the closed curtain of the window where the pitter of rain was coming from. 

I’ll send John to pick them up. –SH

***

John would have typically been more annoyed at being sent on some errand for his flat-mate, but he knew something was up with him and didn’t want to press him too much about it. When he spotted Lestrade at the yard he couldn’t help but think something had gotten into everyone lately. 

The DI was at his desk with a large box of donuts and looking exceptionally down. More so then when he went through his divorce a while back, it seemed. 

“This case is really that bad, is it?” John grabbed a chair, expecting some lengthy explanation. 

“Ah, you’re here. It’s uh, not exactly the case on my mind right now.” He didn’t make eye contact with John at that and bent down to rifle through a few case files before pulling out three. “Here you are.” 

“Oh?” John took a look at the envelopes; one was the nude man that was found the day before. The others appeared to be another man and a woman found in similar fashions. “Well, it’s not gender specific it seems.” 

Lestrade was already half way through a donut when John looked up at him. 

“Ok, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you gonna clam up and go quiet like everyone else?” He had really had enough of the bizarre behavior from everyone lately. 

Lestrade blinked and quickly swallowed his bit of donut. “Wait, does Sherlock do it too?” 

John cocked his head, not really sure where this conversation was about to go, “You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific there.” 

“Er, nothing,” Lestrade considered taking another bite to think of way to change topics, but he was also nearing the end of his own rope. “Sherlock sent you down, I take it?” 

John leaned his chair back a bit, noticing it was still raining outside. “Yea, he’s being strange, ever since Mycroft came over yesterday-”

Lestrade looked like he had just found the killer in a case, “Mycroft was at your flat? Yesterday??” 

“Er, yes? He does do that sometimes?” John was thoroughly confused. 

“Well what happened, what did he say??” Lestrade was now at the edge of his seat, although John had no idea why. 

“It was just weird. He didn’t want to talk in front of me, he just wanted to show Sherlock something and they made me leave the room? Then when I came back, Mycroft decided to leave.” 

“So he didn’t stay long?” Lestrade sounded almost disappointed. “And he went home after that?” 

“That’s where he said he was going, yea. Why does this matter again?” John furrowed his brow, hoping some explanation to all of this was about to come. 

“John,” Lestrade had a long pause, as if he wasn’t sure if he should ask him something or not. “Does Sherlock ever avoid leaving the flat? I mean, not because he just hates people, but, like he’s afraid to? Or… during storms?”

Ok, now John was definitely interested. “Never? But then Mycroft was insisting that Sherlock stay home during the storm for his own good or something. Apparently it didn’t matter if I went out for a swim in the Thames for all either of them cared though. But now Sherlock’s moping about at the flat and sending me out to get files for him.” 

Lestrade let out a loud frustrated sound. “What’s with that man?!” 

John shrugged, “Sherlock’s always been sort of-”

“Not him.” Lestrade hung his head down. 

“Hm?” John looked him over; Lestrade was clearly under a lot of stress and possibly stress eating. “Wait, you mean Mycroft? So, does he always do this during storms or something?” 

Greg fiddled with his hands, clearly not wanting to explain himself too much. “He has… I don’t know what it is but it’s been driving me nuts. He carries that damn umbrella around everywhere he goes, you know. But then this weird thing about rain and storms started happening and then last year with that small storm that came in… he wouldn’t even text me and-” Lestrade stopped and immediately looked away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be keeping you. You have to get back to your place and Sherlock… You still see him, right? I mean, he comes out of his room during storms and all that?” 

John always thought Greg only ever contacted Mycroft to help keep tabs on Sherlock. Was it more then that? “Are you two… friends? You and Mycroft I mean?” He also never considered Mycroft to be agoraphobic before, but then he never exactly sat down and had a real conversation with the man either. 

“Sort of. We talk sometimes.” Greg just seemed down right depressed. 

John wasn’t about to put all of Sherlock’s efforts to deduce people to complete waste though. Ok, so they talked? What else? Lestrade usually had nicer food then just a box of donuts; at least he typically did lately, not two years ago when he was still with his wife. Which seemed almost backwards, usually people only ate cheap junk when they weren’t making or buying it for someone else. “Wait… do you two…” No, that couldn’t be right. Besides, if it were, surely Sherlock would have noticed it by now. Of course he was also terribly horrible with sentiment and couldn’t deduce a damn thing if he was somehow involved in his own deduction for some reason. But Mycroft? That was just absurd. Yet, Lestrade looked like he was hanging on whatever John was about to say next. 

John gathered the case files up and stood, ready to leave. Lestrade noticeably relaxed. Yup, something was up. John looked at him again, trying his best to seem casual. 

“Do you and Mycroft get food together a lot? Or does he just bring you breakfast?” 

Lestrade was absolutely about to jump out of his own skin. He quickly straightened his tie, as if that somehow made a difference. “No, no, not at all… I’m not even sure what-” John had this obnoxiously knowing look. “Its just business. He likes to discuss things over food sometimes, is all.” 

“What sort of things do you discuss?” Ok, he was having far too much fun, but seriously, this must have a way more logical explanation that what it sounded like. 

Greg rolled his eyes, “Sherlock typically.”

Ok, that was fair. But it didn’t really explain everything. “But, you worry about him when he doesn’t speak to you? Enough that you’re binge eating?”

Lestrade frowned and pointedly closed the donut box. “I am Not binge eating.” He cleared his throat a bit, “Besides, I would worry about anyone who turns into a hermit and disappears during storms.”

John really hoped that Sherlock didn’t end up like that. He didn’t want to go through whatever Greg was going through. He shrugged, so they were friends. It was odd, but not a big deal, they were just like Sherlock and him. “Well, I’ll see you later, I’ll let you know if Mycroft pops up again.” He turned to leave.

Lestrade sighed openly. “Its not like that.” 

“Its really fine, just pulling your chain.” 

“He’s like Sherlock. He’s not interested in people like that.” 

“Oh.” John supposed that made sense. Wait. “OH.” He was left without words, just standing there about to step out the door when Greg dropped THAT on him?? He wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to respond? ‘Sorry?’ “But… You had a wife?” Ok, that was absolutely not how he was supposed to respond, but still, the point stood. 

Greg shrugged, far too casually at that. “And then we split up.”

John looked at the open door. He could just go right now and pretend he never heard this. But obviously the DI had been bottling this up for some time and there must have been a part of him that wanted to talk about it or he never would have said anything. Shite. John closed the door to the office and took his seat back. 

“So, she left because you like…”

“I left her because she was having affairs, actually.” And of course Sherlock was the one to tell him. 

John scrunched his nose up, “But… Mycroft?” Even if Greg was bisexual or pan, why him of people?

Greg chuckled, “He’s not that bad. He’s just… not interested in anyone. I thought it was his way of turning me down at first. But then Sherlock’s the same.” 

“Wait, you haven’t tried to date Sherlock, have you?” John puffed up a bit, eyes narrowing. 

“No need to be jealous,” Greg winked. 

“Whoah, wait, I’m not jealous- I’m not even-”

“Myc is the only bloke I ever saw like this. Never cared much for any other guy.” 

John calmed down a bit at that, not that it mattered to him who Greg liked. Or who Sherlock dated. Obviously. “Not to sound like Sherlock, but if he doesn’t feel the same, or like anyone for that matter, why don’t you just move on? I mean, lots of other people out there after all.” He really hoped that wasn’t insensitive. But Mycroft wasn’t really the type anyone should be pinning after. 

Greg ran a hand through his hair, which seemed greyer then ever. “Maybe I’m just fooling myself. But sometimes… its as if he does feel the same? I don’t know what’s going on. After that first awkward time he turned me down, he kept asking me to ‘discuss’ things with him and taking me out to eat. He always paid. But after a while, his excuses seemed pretty flimsy.” He chuckled fondly. “He didn’t even give a reason for the last few times we went out. I even joked that it was a date once and he never corrected me.” 

John smiled, appreciating the dreamy expression on Lestrade’s face. It had almost sounded like the way Sherlock treated him, always insisting they go out to eat even though the detective never ate a thing. Even going as far as to scare off John’s dates so that he could be there instead. John furrowed his brow, no, this wasn’t at all like Sherlock and him. Sherlock of course didn’t want anything like, well, whatever it was that Mycroft wanted. Could he? 

“Hold on, if he’s not leaving his house, why don’t you just go see him?” Seemed like the most obvious advice, John reasoned. “After all this time, you must have his address?” 

Lestrade nervously ran the palm of his hands over his trousers. “I’ve thought about it…” 

“Listen, what on earth you could see in Mycroft of all people, is beyond me. But you both deserve to be happy. Maybe its not,” he tried to think of a good way to word it, “Like other relationships. But maybe he just needs a push? He’s the one that’s been asking you to go places after all. He must see something in you.” 

“An asexual romantic,” Greg sighed. “I fucking hope so. Don’t think he knows it though.” He looked back up at John. “You really think I should go see him? I’m not sure he’ll like me just dropping in on him. Especially when he’s paranoid over some damn storm.”

“I promise to take the blame if he is upset.”

“You’re a real pal, you know that?” Greg practically beamed at him. 

John scratched the back of his head, “just don’t tell Sherlock I encouraged you two. He’ll feel betrayed forever.” He chuckled. 

“Ugh, he can be a nightmare when it comes to Mycroft. But he’ll get over it eventually.”

John gave a small wave as he left, not looking forward at all to going home in this downpour. 

Greg waited a bit after John left his office, sneaking out another donut to nibble from. He flicked his phone on and reread his last few messages to Mycroft. 

‘I hope you found the Café Renaud to your liking’. –MH

‘I did. I enjoyed the company even better though. Maybe next time we could try dinner?’ –GL

‘I could find time to arrange that into my schedule.’ –MH

Greg grinned at that. He had felt so very hopeful at that message. But it was after that, that he he began to worry. 

‘Something has come up, I’m afraid I’ll be rather busy the next few days.’ –MH

‘Does this have to do with the weather?’ –GL  
‘Please, I just worry when you disappear on me.’ -GL

‘I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. But I will be unable to contact you until the storm has passed.’ –MH

‘You’ll be at home then?’ –GL  
‘I could come over? We wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Just stay in.’ –GL  
‘Or I could just check up on you? Bring you lunch for a change.’ –GL  
‘Please Myc, I was in a full panic last time you did this.’ -GL

Mycroft hadn’t responded to his texts after that. Maybe he should just leave the politician alone if he wanted his privacy. But Greg just couldn’t get over that uneasy feeling he had. He pressed the little green call button and held the phone up to his ear. The phone rang and rang, but no answer. He knew it was just paranoia, but he couldn’t help but imagine scenarios where Mycroft was in trouble and needed his help. Or maybe that was more a wistful daydream of his where he could swoop in and save him? John was right, this thing between them was absurd and needed to be settled. Besides, going to Mycroft’s house wasn’t such a big deal. If Mycroft really didn’t want to see him, he would just turn him away, or never open the door. The DI really hoped neither of those things would happen. But sitting around and not knowing for days on end might as well be the death of him. 

Greg huffed and closed his donut box. “I’m just gonna go see him. It will be fine.” He ran a hand over his midsection. “And stop binge eating junk…” Mycroft was always so hard on himself and trying to diet, and here he was keeping a whole donut shop in business.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about posting this late! Hopefully the length will make up for that.

Chapter 4

‘Myc, I’m coming over. You don’t have to let me in if you don’t want, but I’m just worried about you and want to check up on you.’ –GL

There was no reply. Two hours had gone by, Greg’s shift at work ended and he arrived at Mycroft’s town house, and there was still no reply. He had to do this, he told himself. It wasn’t as if the grass was booby trapped or anything. Shite, was it? Probably not. Lestrade took a deep breath to get rid of his nerves. He just had to knock, if no one answered, then fine. If Mycroft, or anyone else did, then he would do everything he could to get to the bottom of this. 

He flexed his hands a few times, making fists and then relaxing them. Going over what he would say in his mind if the door opened. 

***

Sherlock paced across the flat as John was out retrieving his file. He didn’t want to leave the flat, not with what Mycroft had showed him looming over him. Was it even safe for John to return? Probably. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. It was the unsuredness that made him nervous. This was all new and he no idea what to expect. He adjusted the thermostat again. He felt like he was burning up despite how low the device already was. Perhaps that was part of his ‘condition.’ Or just nerves, hard to say. 

He wanted to tell himself that this was all an elaborate prank on Mycroft’s behalf, but a deeper part of him knew that it was far from it. He played back the conversation in his head from the day before. 

‘You’re lying.’

‘Am I?’ Mycroft had been so smug about it. Sherlock sneered at the mere memory. 

‘Proof of what exactly?’ Sherlock had known full well what Mycroft was talking about. But what proof could he possibly have? So there were a few questionable holes in their ancestry. A great great grandparent who had been a pirate with a few tall tales told about him. It was a fairy tale at best. But still, he needed to know whatever it was that Mycroft had wanted to show him. Besides, John would be more then happy to make them tea, and likely listen in. In fact, he had somewhat counted on it. 

He was almost proud of John’s reply. ‘I hope you realize that Sherlock and I don’t keep secrets from each other.’ He liked to think that this was true. Well, sometimes it was necessary to hide drugs. Or how he would intimate John’s dates at times. But that was all innocent enough. He never thought that This would come up, after all.

Sherlock hadn’t responded to him though. He couldn’t. Because Mycroft had already done something utterly impossible. 

The politician cocked his head to the side in a calculating manner when voice came from everywhere and no where at once.

‘It happened before.’ It hissed in Sherlock’s head, the sound echoing strangely. It wasn’t quite Mycroft’s voice but close enough that he vaguely recognized it. ‘Don’t you remember?’ The words seemed to bounce off the walls of Sherlock’s very mind.

Sherlock nodded, seeing that Mycroft was grinning and obviously the source of where ever the hell that voice was coming from. Clearly John wasn’t meant to hear them. But he remembered. He was 7 at the time and a much older boy had hit and kicked him, sending Sherlock to the ground. Mycroft came to his aid, but it had been to late. Something otherworldly had come over him as he grabbed the boy with a strength he had never known and pounded into him. The other boys and girls and sworn on their lives that Sherlock’s eyes had gone solid black. The teachers dismissed it as hysterical children telling stories. But Mycroft had seen it. Made it a point of researching their heritage a bit more after that, but Sherlock never cared enough to hear him out. But there was something inside him that day at the playground. He had felt it squirming somewhere deep inside himself.

‘It was more then just that.’ The voice came again, almost as though it knew that Sherlock had quickly replayed the memory. ‘There must have been other times.’

Sherlock’s eyes flicked up to Mycroft’s. His pupils were blown wide. Not unnaturally, but certainly strangely given their lighting. How was he making Sherlock hear him? 

There were other times. Not that he had ever told anyone, not even Mycroft. He had tried being intimate with a boy at Uni before. It didn’t end well. They had both been high at the time, which they later blamed for being the reason why it went wrong. They boy had pushed Sherlock onto the bed and kissed him deeply. It was clear what he wanted and Sherlock didn’t mind. But as his trousers were pulled off, something inexplicable had happened. An almost ripping sensation at Sherlock’s sides. Two massive black- Things- had grabbed the other boy. He screamed and begged to be released. The masses didn’t want to let him go but finally relented after a few moments of the boy screaming. When he was, he grabbed his shirt and ran out the dormitory door at full speed. 

Mycroft looked at him expectantly. ‘You want your proof?’ The voice hissed in Sherlock’s head. The detective looked skeptical. 

 

Mycroft flexed his wrist silently. The movement caught Sherlock’s attention. There was something there, poking just outside of his sleeve. ‘Storms bring about our cycle.’ The limb came further out, a few suckers becoming visible as it coiled around the handle of the umbrella he held. ‘I tried to tell myself it was in my mind last time. But this storm is far bigger. Its only right that I warn you, brother. I was-’ There was a pause. ‘uncontrollable last time.’

Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes away from the thin red tentacle, even as he heard John approaching with the tea tray. The limb tucked its self away moments before John had entered. How could possibly explain that to anyone? That there was some strange possibility that he wasn’t quite human. He was a monster. 

He was peering at his hands, being pulled from his memory for a moment. He wasn’t sure where that thing on Mycroft had appeared from, let alone that voice that evidently only he could hear. He could almost hear its strange reverberations still as he sank onto the couch. The door of the flat opened and shut with a heavy thud, but he didn’t turn to look. Obviously it was John with his file. 

John was drenched and already starting to shed himself of his soaking rain coat. He was glad that Sherlock was still in the living room and not hiding away. Lestrade had actually made him rather worried. 

“Thinking?” He had an uneasy smile as he set the file down in front of Sherlock. 

But the detective said nothing, just continued to look at his hands. John was use to this sort of treatment however and headed off to change into something dryer. He wanted to be as far away from this wet business as possible. He kicked his shoes off and grabbed a bathroom towel for his hair when Sherlock’s phone pinged. 

John peered back into the room. “Is that Greg?”

Sherlock slid the phone lock off to check. “Mycroft.”

John’s eyebrows shot up a bit, remembering what Greg had said about not being able to contact him. 

‘You should come by.’ -MH 

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up a bit at that. When John had brought out the tea yesterday, there had been a strange almost strangled sound emitted through whatever way Mycroft was communicating to him. A desperate plea for Sherlock to join him. 

‘I thought you hated texting.’ –SH

“Is he… ok?” John loomed closer, looking a bit nervous. 

Those sea foam eyes of Sherlock’s were on him in an instant. “Worried?” 

John huffed and looked away, that gaze always made him so nervous. “Not exactly.” 

‘In truth, I fear I don’t quite trust my voice at the moment.’ –MH

‘It must be Christmas, I finally got my wish of you shutting up.’ –SH

“Not exactly? But you are?” Sherlock wanted to tease him, but also didn’t like the idea of John caring about his brother. 

“Well, I’m not. He can get stuffed for all I care- the way he came in here yesterday.”

Sherlock smiled; that was much better.

“Its… Its Greg actually. He’s worried about him- I mean, I’m sure the prat is fine. But I’m worried about Greg worrying about him, I suppose.” 

“Why should Lestrade care what Mycroft wastes his time with?”

‘Brother, you should know by know how serious this is.’ –MH

John pinched the bridge of his nose. How was he going to explain this to Sherlock? It was hard enough getting him to understand human emotions and the concept of sentiment. 

‘Serious enough that I should hide in the dark with ‘big brother’ looking after me?’ –SH

‘Looking after wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’ –MH

“Look, Greg- he cares about Mycroft is all.” John stated slowly, doing his best to ignore the fact that Sherlock was crouched on the sofa texting for this awkward conversation. 

“Care for?” He wasn’t even bothering to look up from his phone anymore. 

‘And what do you have in mind? I thought you believed yourself and I to be ‘dangerous’ to be around. Are we to battle to the death? Could be amusing.’ –SH

‘We are unsafe as our cycle has come. It could be mutually beneficial to come to an understanding, however.’ -MH

Sherlock furrowed his brow at that, what was Mycroft getting at? 

“I know you don’t quite understand these things and… that’s ok, Lock. It really is. But Greg- he- Mycroft-” John felt like such an idiot. Why was this so bloody hard?

‘Just come out with whatever it is that you want.’ -SH

“Greg wants to be with him, romantically.” 

Sherlock scrunched his nose and immediately looked up. “What?” 

John shrugged. “Its just what he wants. But Mycroft is- Mycroft.” It did seem unusual for both Sherlock and his brother to be asexual or whatever they were, but he wasn’t about to be the one to question it.

‘To put it simply, it seems our age of maturity is simply later in life and it would be safer for us to mate then wait too long and force ourselves upon someone less capable of dealing with this.’ –MH

Sherlock stared blankly at his phone. 

“What’s Mycroft saying anyway?” 

“W-what?” Sherlock clicked the screen off. 

“The phone, you said it was Mycroft? What’s he want this time?”

Sherlock glanced back down at the phone for a moment. The memory of his incident at Uni in the forefront of his mind now. “Hm? Oh… nothing. He’s just… nothing.”

John furrowed his brow. That hadn’t really sounded like nothing. “Its just that he isn’t apparently talking to anyone. Greg keeps texting him.” 

“GREG.” Sherlock repeated rather loudly. 

“Er, yea? You were here for the conversation we were just having, right?” 

‘Lestrade.’ –SH

‘Pardon?’ –MH

‘Have your way with him and leave me the hell alone. I don’t even want to know what jump of logic you were trying to make, but I will do us both the favor of forgetting you ever said it.’ –SH

‘If you’re suggesting Gregory as a possible mate, I should inform you that I fear he may not survive. You have yet to experience the changes, but I assure you, they are neither explainable to people nor physically easy for them to handle.’ –MH

‘Then die alone for all I care. But THAT is not happening.’ –SH

Sherlock threw his phone down, practically spitting venom. 

“Er- everything ok?” John eyed where the phone landed, not sure how Sherlock’s brother could have pissed him off so much this time. 

Sherlock didn’t respond but merely looked away, clearly sulking. What was he even suppose to say to John? 

“Okay…” Obviously Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it. “Listen, I… I know he wants you to stay at his place for a bit-“

Sherlock’s head shot back up and looked at him with what might even be fear in his eyes. 

Alright, so maybe that was what the texting had been about. “And I know its really not any of my business,”

“It’s not.” Sherlock scowled, not at John per say, but in general. 

John rolled his eyes, starting to get rather annoyed by this dismissive behavior. “But I would prefer it if you stayed here, if I have any say in it.” 

“I plan to.” 

“You do?” The tension immediately left John’s voice again. “I mean, good. I… I just don’t want to not hear from you and start worrying is all.” End up like Greg pinning over him. 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “I… I might not be about too much.”

John’s expression fell a bit, but remained relatively optimistic. “You’re inside though. Safe from the weather or whatever?” Wasn’t that enough? 

Mycroft’s words were still in his head. Sherlock needed to know exactly what Mycroft meant by uncontrollable and unsafe. But he also didn’t exactly feel like speaking to him. “That’s not what I’m worried about, actually.” 

John sighed and grabbed his chair to sit and face Sherlock. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? What your idiot of a brother wants?” 

Sherlock’s eyes slid away again and already John felt like the detective was retreating into isolation. 

“Please Lock, I need to know. Is there… maybe something that could help?”

He really wasn’t sure. Should he be researching octopi? Or was there no correspondence to those and what Mycroft had shown him. He wasn’t sure, which was precisely why he should be researching and experimenting now. 

“Possibly… I need to-” He paused. Something had caught his attention. There was consistent pattern of raining hitting against their windows. Even if the blinds were pulled shut, he could still hear it. He reached forward to catch a drop of water from John’s hair. “You’re wet.” 

“That’s what happens when it’s raining.” How was his flatmate suppose to be a genius again? “I should probably dry it off a bit more. Sherlock? Are you alright?” 

Sherlock was completely fixated, his finger tips starting to wander through John’s soggy hair a bit more. 

John swallowed thickly. The look Sherlock had on his face was eerily similar to yesterday when they were at the beach. The way he stared off at the Thames had been strange enough, almost forgetting he had done it at all immediately after. 

“John” Sherlock’s voice sounded strangely off, almost like an echo. “You’ll catch a cold like this.” 

Was it just in John’s mind or was the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twisting upwards a bit? Just barely, but he could still see it. Like he was bad at covered a smile, something he knew for a fact that Sherlock was actually exceptionally great at. 

John quickly stood, “You’re right,” Something about his friend was alarming him now. “I’ll dry it off a bit more.” 

Sherlock stood as well, head tilting to the side a bit. “Fragile…” 

“Hm?” John wasn’t sure what he meant by that. 

“You should stay in,” Sherlock glanced at the window, the same distant look still in his eyes. “For safety.” He smiled, but it looked quite unnatural on him now. His pupils seeming larger then normal. 

“I still have to do some shopping, we cant just stay here all day with nothing to eat. Besides, I have a job too, though you always seem to forget about it.” 

“We’ll need food.” Sherlock dismissed the second part of what John said. 

“Seriously Lock, you’re starting to weird me out a bit, what’s going on?” 

Sherlock blinked, his pupils returning to normal. He was a bit alarmed that he seemed to now be standing before remembering what had just occurred. It was like he was in a strange daze. “I’ll be in my room.” He attempted to quickly pass John and make it to his doorway. 

John stopped him, grabbing Sherlock before he could sneak off. “You’re not hiding away that easily.” 

“I’m hardly hiding,” He huffed, feigning irritation. 

“You left your phone on the ground, you never go anywhere without it. And bloody hell, Sherlock,” He put his hand to the detective’s forehead. “You’re burning up!”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock swayed for a moment and fell into him a bit. 

“That’s it. Bed. Now.” John demanded, guiding Sherlock to his room and making sure he got into bed. “I swear to god, if you even think about locking the door, I will knock it down.” Sherlock was really not looking well now. “Stay here, I’m bringing you water.” 

“and my phone?”

John rolled his eyes, “I’ll bring it.” 

Sherlock shot back up for a moment. “Don’t open it.” 

John blinked, “Alright.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare.” 

“I wont, Lock. I promise. You just need to calm down.” John gently pushed Sherlock back against the bed. “I think you have a fever.” Which would probably explain some of his odder then normal behavior.

***

Greg had waited several minutes and even knocked two additional times, but there was no answer. He tried calling, but of course, Mycroft never picked up and the phone merely went to voicemail. 

“Myc please…. I’m just worried. At least message my phone that you’re in there?” Greg was fairly certain he could hear something, now that he was listening. It was difficult to tell with the light rain still falling around him, but there was the sound of rushing water from inside. “Mycroft?” His hand wandered to the handle of the door, he didn’t expect anything from it, but to his surprise it was unlocked. Which seemed exceptionally unusual for someone who seemed constantly paranoid about ‘security.’ 

Lestrade opened the door, not sure if he should wander in or not. He certainly didn’t want to be on the politician’s bad side. “Myc?” He called out again from the door step. The house was rather dark, it seemed as though there wasn’t a single light on.

There was a sound like a person moaning. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was Mycroft or if it even meant anything, but it seemed like probable cause enough to him. He quickly stepped in, shutting the door to the rain behind him. His clothes were dripping on the floor, which he didn’t have much time to help. He quickly attempted to shrug off his coat and hang it up, but his mind was still frantic. 

“Mycroft?!” He went towards the sound of running water without looking for a light switch and found himself in a kitchen. He had no idea what the lay out of the house was or where he might find anything in it. He soon realized the sound had been coming from the sink, which was inexplicably left on and was gushing out water. The basin was completely full as water spilled out and onto the floor. This was certainly not a good sign. 

Greg turned the sink off, worried as to why Mycroft would have left it on for so long, or why the front door was unlocked. That’s when he noticed. A knife block on the kitchen counter, a rather large one with numerous slots for knives. Yet, not a single knife was in it. Had they all been taken out? Even in defense, a person would only need one. 

It was a trap. 

Lestrade quickly turned, “MYC-“ He froze. 

There in the door way stood a tall silhouette. “I worried you might not come.” The voice seemed to buzz inside Greg’s head in an unnatural way. 

“You’re door… it was unlocked…” Clearly he was mistaken. Why would Mycroft try to trick him into coming in? 

“I know.” He stepped closer, a grin widening on his face. 

Greg felt the natural urge to back up, which forced him against the sink, more water spilling out. “I thought… you didn’t want me coming over?” 

“Not at that time, I didn’t.” As he approached, Greg realized that Mycroft’s clothes were soaking wet. Not like his own from standing in the rain, but as if he had been submerged in water. 

Lestrade was torn. Clearly something wasn’t right. Was Mycroft unstable? Yet, there was something in the way he spoke that chilled him to the core. 

“Should I go, then?” He almost hated himself for saying it. He had finally gotten inside and seen Mycroft, who might even be ill, and he was just going to leave him? 

“You would come all this way to leave?” Mycroft’s feigned hurt, his mouth going into an obviously fake pout. “But no, you’ll be staying.” 

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. 

“You’re clothes…” Greg swallowed, still not able to put his finger on what exactly was the most off putting part of this. “we should find you something dry to wear.”

“Already trying to get my shirt off? Really Inspector Detective, you should at least offer me a glass of wine first. He cocked his head curiously, watching Greg’s every little movement. 

Mycorft Holmes made a sexual innuendo? To him? Was this man even the real Mycroft? It seemed absurd to even think, but even his voice was somehow just off. Greg scanned the room, but there was nothing sharp in it. Nothing to even defend one’s self. He eventually looked back at the man who was now only a couple of feet away. His vision adjusting to the darkness finally. 

“You’re eyes…” He whispered, though he could tell Mycroft could hear him from his now fallen expression. 

“What about my eyes?” It came out quite aggressively. He barely gave Greg a moment to answer before he sprung for him, trying his best to grab the DI by the waist. 

But Lestrade had anticipated it and leap out of the way, almost not making it. He stumbled through the dark room in an attempt to find his way back to the front door. 

Mycroft’s eyes were solid black. Even the white part was entirely consumed by it. 

He could hear Mycroft following, though his pace was far from rushed. He was almost casual about the way he followed him. Greg had a sinking feeling from that, he almost knew before he grabbed the door handle again. Locked. Of course it had been. 

The door was unlocked when he first entered, a strange sound lured him in. The sink left on in a room void of anything he could defend himself with. This was all set up for him. He had even been foolish enough to cry out to Mycroft at every chance he had so his attacked knew exactly where he was at all times. 

“Trying to leave? I told you, Gregory. You’re staying.” Mycroft’s voice hissed out, its strange echo effect pounding in Lestrade’s head.


	5. Just sex chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally this chapter is just sex. 
> 
> CW: Dubious consent. Extremely dubious, possibly rape. It's extremely dicey.

Chapter 5

“Myc, please-” Greg knew he must be pretty desperate if he was even considering this tactic. “You’re not well, you need help.” 

“I need nothing of the sort,” His solid black eyes were absolutely piercing. 

Lestrade felt as though he could be swallowed up by their vast emptiness. “I don’t want to loose you, not like this.” 

“You wont lose me,” Mycroft’s voice softened a bit at that as he stepped closer, cornering Greg in. 

Greg held his breath, his heart racing faster then it ever had. This could be his only chance to get Mycroft while he was off guard. Surely he had a weapon on him somewhere, and he doubted the politician had much training in physical defense, though he couldn’t be certain. The second he saw his chance, he attempted to rush at him, hoping to find a knife or anything. He would just escape, not hurt him, then seek medical professionals for him. 

Mycroft was shoved against the doorway, his breath leaving him for a moment as he was winded. He bared his teeth, clearly furious now. Greg hadn’t found anything on him in his moment and decided to quickly run for it, perhaps there was a window somewhere he could smash through. But as he attempted to turn tail and run, something quickly coiled around his ankle and tripped him, sending him smashing into the floor and dragged back wards. 

Above him, Mycroft was grinning, his teeth looking far too sharp to be normal. 

“I would advice against making me angry.”

Lestrade attempted to rip his leg from whatever was grasping it, but the appendage only tightened its grip and yanked him back. 

Greg rolled over to his back, seeing for the first time what had grabbed him. He reflexively pulled his leg back again at the sight, still to no avail. The tip of the thick tentacle around his ankle was a brighter red then the deep crimson at its base where it disappeared somewhere behind Mycroft’s back. Mycroft scowled at Lestrade’s obvious fear. 

The DI desperately grabbed at a potted plant and attempted to throw it at his attacker, but another tentacle quickly shot out to grab the pot. 

“Fuck-” There were more of those things. 

Greg struggled against the two limbs, the suction cups on his ankle grasping him hard enough to leave marks. An amused smile returned to Mycroft’s lips as he watched Greg fail. Another tentacle came out and gingerly took the pot, placing it gently back on the ground. 

“I suggest you start behaving yourself.” 

“What do you want?!” Greg was nearly frozen with shock, but there had to be something. “You don’t have to do this. I can- I can help you-” He hoped, “Just let me?” 

”Help?” Mycroft purred, “I fully intend to take you up on that offer.” 

The tentacle on Greg’s ankle stayed put as the other two grasped his wrists. 

“What are you-” Greg struggled against them, the suckers marking him there as well now. A fourth tentacle came out, wrapping its length around Greg’s waist. Mycroft attempted to lift him up, but the weight proved to be too much for him as Greg thudded back on to the ground, his head hitting the marble entrance. As much as his head was now ponding, it was useful to remember that these things couldn’t quite lift him. Mycroft huffed in irritation; he didn’t want to injure Gregory. He wasn’t strong enough to lift him yet, but perhaps soon. Until then, he would just have to make due. 

Another tentacle coiled around his waist, joining the first one as Mycroft began dragging him off through a hallway. Greg tried his best to grab at doors the passed by for leverage, but the appendages around his wrists were far too strong to fight off. They were nearing the end of the hallway when he managed to at least get his captured wrists closer to his face. Greg craned his head forward and bit deep into one of the tentacles. The one on Greg’s wrist immediately pulled away, freeing him for a moment as the other trembled in pain. Mycroft let out a painful shriek and crumpled to his knees as his eyes squeezed shut. Despite his circumstances, Greg actually felt bad about doing it. Somewhere in there was still the man he cared very deeply for. 

Mycroft’s eyes snapped back open, their piercing blackness staring at him. The tentacle that Greg had bitten shot forward, forcing its way into his mouth now. Lestrade squirmed, his hands immediately grabbing the thing and trying to rip it out of him. But the digit was far too strong for that and only forced its way deeper, the tapered edge making it to the opening is his throat as his eyes began watering. He tried screaming for Mycroft to stop, but the damn thing was blocking him from speaking. The tentacle that had previously been around his other wrist came back and soothingly stroked his hair, though Greg was too occupied trying to pull the first tentacle out of his mouth to even bother with that one. 

“This will be easier if you relax.” The tentacle tilted Greg’s chin up to force him to look at him. 

“MMMPH!” Greg tried to bit down on the tentacle again, but the thicker end of it was now forcing his mouth too wide and he couldn’t manage it. 

Mycroft’s eyes slid slightly shut at the attempt however, a small sound escaping him. Lestrade’s brow furrowed, that hadn’t exactly sounded like he was in any pain. He tried the action again, his tongue awkwardly sliding to the side of the damn thing as the limb had forced it down. This time however, Mycroft pressed two tentacles down on him, forcing Greg flat on the floor as he drew closer. 

“Ahhh Gregory… at least wait for me to get you to the bed.” 

Greg flushed nearly as red as the tentacles on him. Was Mycroft getting off on that??

The two thick coils around Greg’s waist pulled him closer to Mycroft as he wrapped his arms around him to pick him up. Two smaller tentacles fastened themselves back around Greg’s wrists just in case as the taller man carried him inside the room at the end of the hall. It was a posh bedroom with overly elaborate furnishings and a decadent bed. Even gagged, Greg rolled his as at the over kill of it, of course this was where Mycroft slept. 

Mycroft began lowering Greg gently onto the bed when Greg’s tongue, annoyed from its lack of space, flicked over the tip of the tentacle. The tentacle immediately squirmed as Mycroft’s strength left him for another moment and dropped him again, though this time onto the soft bed. 

“Greg-” His voice was clearly strained now. 

Lestrdae tried pulling his neck and head back, away from his attacker, and surprisingly Mycroft allowed this until almost all of the tentacle was out. But just as Greg thought he would finally be free of it, Mycroft quickly thrust it forward again and back into the welcoming wetness. The tentacle squirmed inside of him, now starting to gently thrust in and out of Greg’s mouth as he tried getting away. But it seemed that this could be an easily exploitable weakness. The thick tentacles on Greg’s waist and wrists were going lax as he focused on the on in his mouth. Maybe he could still escape after all. 

Lestrdae let his tongue stroke up the underside of the appendage, now gently sucking on it as Mycroft let out what even he could admit was a truly exquisite moan. Greg clenched his fists into the sheets beneath him, utterly annoyed at how hard this was making him. Fuck. He would just have to deal with that weird response later. Mycroft was so close to letting go now, he only had to keep teasing that tentacle for a bit longer. 

The lower tentacle on his waist had let go entirely, the tip now sneaking down into his trousers. Greg wanted to thrash about to stop it, but he couldn’t risk it. Just another moment, that was all he needed it. He swirled his tongue around Mycroft, knowing it might just be the finishing touch he needed to get all those damn things off him. 

But instead, all of his tentacles tensed at once, especially the one in Greg’s mouth before releasing its self inside of him. Greg now thrashed at full force against him as liquid poured into him from the tentacle tip, filling his mouth with something sickeningly sweet. He grabbed at the base of the tentacle again, trying to pull it out. But Mycroft looked as though he no longer cared as his other tentacles gyrated around him, gently caressing Greg’s whole form. 

Greg’s grip loosened, his hands falling back against the bed in an overly relaxed fashion as his whole body felt numbingly weak. Mycroft cupped his face in his hands, watching him drink the fluid down with great satisfaction. Greg was faintly aware that the pounding in his head from where he hit it earlier had died down to nothing. 

Mycroft began scattering light kissed from his cheeks to his neck. He began unbuttoning his shirt to trail them over his chest as well, the tentacle still pumping into him the whole time. 

Greg barely managed to bring his hands up at all. He wanted to try to push Mycroft off of him, but they were so weak that they barely pressed against him. The other tentacles were now freely able to pull Greg’s trousers off as a warm wetness covered his thighs. 

He squirmed at the un-comfortableness, not sure what was happening to him at all. Two tentacle tips swirled around those slickening inner thighs teasingly as Mycroft’s tongue flicked out over his lower lip. 

“Fascinating…” The tentacle he had thrust down Greg’s throat came out slowly and lifted Greg’s weak hand, only to let it flop back down. Testing it’s strength. 

“You didn’t know?” He managed to breath out, realizing that Mycroft hadn’t pumped him full of only god knew what on purpose. 

Mycroft’s eyes darted down, away from Gregory’s as he pretended not to hear him. He hadn’t gained the opportunity to capture someone like this until now and didn’t know all the possible affects yet. A curious tentacle wrapped around the base of Greg’s cock, a sucker sticking to its underside. 

“You may stop fooling yourself, as you’re clearly aroused.” 

Lestrade scowled and had just enough strength to turn his head away. 

Mycroft clenched his jaw and grabbed Greg’s thighs hard, pulling him closer as the suckers left noticeable marks there. Greg did his best to weakly clutch at the bed below him, but it was no use, his strength was gone. The tentacle around his dick abruptly let go, sliding down his trembling body until reaching his entrance. 

“MYCROFT! Please!” Lestrade yelped out as a last effort. 

The tentacle surprisingly stilled. “You were the one that wanted this.” The voice buzzed in Greg’s head. “You said you wanted me…” The tentacle curled away a bit. 

Greg could feel his heart breaking. He had wanted Mycroft, so badly that it pained him to even think of the politician. “You never wanted me back.” He wasn’t even sure if this soaking wet- thing, was Mycroft. But he also knew that Myc had done everything to turn him down in the past. 

“That’s not true…” The buzzing died off, sounding more like a regular human voice now. 

Lestrade looked up, the edges of Mycroft’s eyes appeared white as the inky blackness diminished a bit. 

“Myc?!” Was he really in there after all? This wasn’t just some shape shifting who-knows-what in his shape?

The blackness sank away a bit more, his tentacles retreating as he tried to read Lestrade’s expression. 

“It is you. Oh fuck, I- I don’t even know what to say.” He was still horrified, yet relieved to know that there might be some way to help the elder Holmes brother. 

Mycroft seemed suddenly uncomfortable and horrified in his own right. Only just realizing what he had been doing. It was too late now. Gregory knew he was a monster. He disentangled from his prey, ready to leave. “There’s a key on the desk, you have to lock me in-” 

“Myc,” Lestrade could feel his strength returning slowly to him and grabbed Mycroft’s shoulders. Even now, he couldn’t let Mycroft retreat to solitude. “I have to know,”

Even as Mycroft tried to stand, a tentacle wrapped around a bed post, trying to prevent him. He was loosing control of them again, which generally was a bad sign he wouldn’t be himself for long either. 

“There isn’t time! I cant stop them!”

“I have to know how you feel.”

Another tentacle was making its way back up Greg’s leg. 

“This is hardly the time for such things!” He barely managed to get off the bed, standing at the foot of it now as his new limbs desperately tried to stop him. 

Greg ignored them, he needed the truth before it drove him insane. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening, and yea, there’s kinda some freaky shit happening with you right now. But damn it Myc, I love you. I just have to know if this is mutual.” He grabbed Mycroft’s waist to pull him closer. 

“Gregory! This is absurd! This is-” The desperate look on Lestrade’s face was melting the heart he wasn’t sure he even had. His voice softened, “I’ve always harbored… a certain fondness for you.” This was still the worst possible time for a heart to heart. “and admittingly, certain desires to be with you. But, it was never- rather, I could never-” He tried to compose himself, which was quite difficult as his tentacles were greedily grabbing at Lestrade again, pulling him closer. “There are things I simply can not do.” He whispered, “That I know are part of having a relationship.” 

Greg cupped one Mycroft’s cheeks with hand, his thumb gently stroking his cheek bone. “I wouldn’t mind, so long as we’re together in any sense of the word.” 

Mycroft tried pulling back a bit, his breath hitching as his eyes darkened a bit. But Greg ignored it and pulled him closer for a light kiss. The dark of Mycroft’s eyes consumed them again, however and soon he was forcing his way into that mouth. 

“Myc,” Greg moaned out, despite being a bit afraid.

Those undulating tentacles lowered them both back to the bed, two of them prodding at the detective’s entrance. Greg’s breath left him for a moment at that. It was hardly his first time, but the thought of being breached by such an appendage was wholly different. He couldn’t imagine how the fully prehensile muscle would feel as it writhed inside him, hitting him at every angle. Lestrdae found that he was surprisingly ok with this suddenly. Somewhere in there it was still the man he had been pinning after for all this time. 

Lestrdae bit his lower lip nervously; at least he was pretty sure it was still him. He reached out, lacing his hand with Mycroft’s. He could swear those solid black eyes softened at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end of this scene, I just needed a break from writing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW inflation kink, and obviously some good old fashioned tentacle fucking but I dont need to tell you guys that.

Chapter 6

The two tentacles spread him open as a third slowly pressed its way inside. Mycroft noticed that Greg was no longer struggling against him but was now a willing participant. 

Greg was gripping the sides of the bed, wincing at the intrusion. He had never felt so abnormally slick before, despite them not using lube. 

“Are you-” He huffed in a breath of air, the tentacle was so close to his prostate now. “Doing that?”

Mycroft gave him a quizzical look, eyes still inhumanly black. “Its not the other tentacle creature in the room.” He deadpanned. 

Greg rolled his eyes. “Not… that.” FUCK, there it was. He let out a rather un-masculine yelp as the tip of Mycroft’s tentacle hit its mark. Sending waves of pleasure through him. 

Mycroft grinned at that, his prehensile limbs squelching in and out of his mate as the other tentacles began to wander about Lestrade’s body. One trailed over his chest and twisted its way around an already hard pink nub. 

Gregory let out a whimper and strangely felt as though more lubricant was suddenly soaking him. He paled at the realization. It wasn’t coming from those agile tentacle tips like the secretion Mycroft had forced him to drink. It was coming from himself. 

Mycroft looked a bit sheepish as he saw the expression on Greg’s face and knew he had finally figured it out. “I was unaware…” The tentacles were turning Greg over now, who finally began struggling back again. 

“Unaware-!? Mycroft!!” What the hell was he even doing now? Greg soon found himself face down on the bed after being man handled by those things. Was Mycroft even really in control? One wrapped snuggly around his waist, which was strangely comforting. 

Mycroft let out a rather annoyed sounding sigh. “Its not as if I have done this before.” 

At least Greg knew he probably wouldn’t be getting any alien STDs, or whatever the hell he was. The tentacles continued to pry their way in deeper, impossibly deep it seemed, as well as stretching him as far as he was willing to go. “Myc…” He finally whimpered, his neglected cock pressing against him in desperation. He gasped in pleasure; Mycroft’s hands ran up his thighs, spreading them a bit wider. It felt so nice to actually recognize something touching him as human. 

“So soft,” Mycroft purred, taking his good time before stroking slowly over Gregory’s shaft. 

Greg’s whole body keened at the friction, how ever slight it was. “More, please, Fuck I need-” He pleaded. 

“So beautiful.” Mycroft purred. His mate was entirely splayed open for him and even begging for more. He had no idea why his whole body had wanted him to fill Greg with that fluid. But he had to more then he needed to breath. He began thrusting the tentacles in and out at different times, so Greg’s prostate would always be assaulted. Greg was soaked, which was more erotic then anything Mycroft would have ever imagined. His strokes sped up as he could feel Gregory’s body convulsing from sheer pleasure. His legs hardly able to keep himself up anymore. 

“I cant- I- fuck, Myc…” Greg let out a shaky breath, hardly able to say anything coherent at all. “Gonna-” 

Mycroft could feel his tentacles thickening. They were ready to release again, but it felt strangely different. They were fuller, especially the one doing the main penetration. His own body arched forward, feeling his mate close to him as his breathing became erratic as well. 

“So thick.” Greg groaned, when it suddenly felt so much bigger then before. 

The tentacle seemed to dive further in then Greg would have thought possible. The other tentacles stroked soothingly at Greg’s thighs and waist, silently encouraging him. 

“Its too much!” Greg could feel the corners of his eyes watering a bit. 

It was wonderful but he could only take so much. The tentacles felt as if they could rip him open. Suddenly, he was gripping the bed as hard as he could, his knuckles going white as he felt Mycroft releasing into him again, It was so much more then the last time. An impossible amount, he thought.

Soon Greg was coming as well, spilling onto the bed. He wasn’t sure if he had strength left anywhere in his body. Mycroft held him close, still spilling into him after Greg had finished. His tentacles tightened all around his mate as he pumped him full. 

Greg moaned in half pleasure half pain. “Myc, stop, fuck. That’s too damn much.” His breathing sounded pained. 

Mycroft only wedged the limb in further, earning him a deep grunt from Greg. 

“I’m going to fucking burst.” He whined desperately. His hand went to his stomach, shocked by how much Mycroft had forced inside him. 

“So full, just for me.” Mycroft whispered. He let his hands cup Lestrade’s rather inflated sides. 

“Ahhh-” Greg attempted to sit up a bit, but his skin was far too sensitive from being stretched now. He squirmed so get away from that thick appendage once more, hoping Mycroft was finally satiated. 

The tentacles only held him down, “I could pump so much more into you.”

Greg couldn’t help but feel a bit panicked at that thought. Mycroft wouldn’t, would he? But was this even him? 

“You could be my stuffed little whore.” Mycroft gently pushed on Greg’s stomach with his hand. 

The D.I. hated how strangely turned on that made him. But he wasn’t going to give in. He needed to know that he was more then just this perverted monster he had suddenly become, because the real Mycroft sure as hell would never had said anything remotely like that. “ ‘Croft?” He did his best to speak softly, hoping Mycroft would think he was being submissive. 

It seemed to work as he peered silently with those solid black eyes. 

Greg gently pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck. He needed him to understand that they were done for now. “Come back to me now?”

The edges of Mycroft’s eyes had a bit of white. Greg filled the gap between them as he kissed him softly, praying that may have some affect. He nearly sobbed as his cheek and neck were gently cupped and the kiss was returned. 

“You should have killed me,” Mycroft buried his face in Greg’s chest. How could he ever meet that man’s eyes again?

“Wha-” Greg wrapped his arms firmly around him. “I wouldn’t- I couldn’t-” Well, he was pretty sure he literally couldn’t have succeeded at least. 

“I’m a monster, Gregory. I’ve beaten you, I’ve,” His voice went exceptionally quiet, “Done unspeakable things to you.” 

Greg shifted a bit, It was true, to be fair. “Well, some of those unspeakable things weren’t exactly unappreciated.” 

They were both a little red at that. 

“Could you control any of that?” Greg drew back, doing what he could to try and read Mycroft’s features. His eyes had returned completely back to normal.

“I don’t even remember all of it.” He sounded utterly defeated, his voice going quite dry as well. 

“At least no one can accuse you of being vanilla,” Greg attempted a small chuckle but it turned into a whimpering moan as he felt the tentacle still lodged inside of him pulling out slowly. Shite, he really hoped this didn’t mean scary pervy tentacle Mycroft was back. 

Mycroft froze at the sound, his eyes darting everywhere but at Greg. “I didn’t realize- sorry.” The other tentacles on the bed retreated, but not that one. 

Greg breathed heavily, “Its mhmmmm, ok. I do need it out though.” Why was flustered post sex Mycroft so damn cute? “Just, really slowly, ok?” He carefully got onto his back in hoped it would make this easier. But instead all it did was display Mycroft’s hard work of filling him to the absolute brim. 

Mycroft quickly looked away, feeling himself heat up even more. He had done that. 

“I can feel it thickening again… shit, you really do have a fetish.” Greg teased, helping to dislodge the lengthy limb. 

“I do not have some perverse fetish.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, finally able to start retracting the damn tentacle. 

Greg caught the red tip before it was gone and trailed his tongue over its underside. He grinned as Mycroft’s breath hitched. 

The tentacle curled away from his mate, “Its really sensitive right now.” He couldn’t meet Greg’s eyes again. Not about this. 

Greg drew closer and pressed against him, taking the more dominating role now. “I’m going to make those cute little tentacles squirm next time.” He pushed Mycroft gently against the bed. 

“You mean-” Mycroft’s brow furrowed. “You really want this?” 

“Damn right I do.” Greg claimed those lips he always fantasized about. Maybe he had a bit of a kink too. But when it wasn’t absolutely terrifying, there was something exceptionally erotic about Mycroft’s new quirk. 

Mycroft held him close, never wanting to let go again. It was strange being mostly clothed still as he held a very naked Greg. Who had packed on quite a lot in the midsection at that. Mycroft subtly ran his hand over the little mound. 

Greg pulled back a bit, “Its sensitive!” He was far too overly filled. That was when he noticed the enlarged pupils of Mycroft. “I knew it. You’re a kinky bastard.” He took Mycroft’s hand and pressed it against himself. “You did this, you utter prick.”

Mycroft couldn’t help himself as he brought the other hand up to feel it as well. “You’re huge.” He mused. 

“I thought I was going to explode.” Greg huffed. “I don’t know what you- or the other you was thinking.” His skin felt far too taught. 

Mycroft rubbed gentle soothing circles into the swollen expanse. “You almost look,”

“Don’t you dare say it.” Greg was still not sure how to feel about this. 

That only made Mycroft smirk more. He gently nibbled at Greg’s ear, still holding his inflated belly. “Pregnant.” 

“Pervert.” Greg nuzzled against him and tried stroking Mycroft’s hair. “Are you alright?” He only just noticed how erratic Mycroft’s breathing was. 

“I’m fine,” he panted. “Fine. Just a bit dry in here.” 

“Dry?” It seemed perfectly fine to him. But it did remind him of how strange it was that Mycroft had been soaking wet when he first arrived. “Do you need a cup of water?” 

Mycroft leaned a bit too forward, not responding. Greg caught him, now growing concerned. 

“Hang on, I’ll get you something.” Greg’s body still felt weak from when the tentacle forced something down his throat. But he managed to get on his shaking legs. “Stay with me, come on.” 

Mycroft Holmes was completely unconscious.


	7. The Fever

Chapter 7

 

Sherlock had been in and out of consciousness for some time. He was barely aware that John had been coming in and out of his room all day to check on him. Sherlock managed to sit up, noticing the room was now cast in shadows as the sun had gone down and tossed the sheets off himself as he attempted to reach a glass of water that John must have left for him on the night stand. His aim wasn’t quite right however, and the glass fell to the floor and broke. 

A quiet murmuring came from the corning of the room at that, making Sherlock sit up fully. But it was only John, still fully dressed despite the hour and sleeping in a chair. Sherlock let out a breath of air. John must have fallen asleep watching him. 

“Joh-” Sherlock’s hand went up to his throat as he let out a dry cough. He was unusually parched. He wasn’t sure if his mouth had ever felt so dry before. 

Sherlock tried calling out to John again, but it was useless. He tried staggering to his feet, but barely reached the door of his room when he lost his balance and fell to his knees. The room was swirling around him. He grabbed hold of the carpet, but didn’t change anything. 

“Sherlock?” John murmured out sleepily. His eyes glanced over the bed and saw his flatmate was gone. “SHERLOCK!” He jolted up, quickly getting to his feet. He spied Sherlock doubled over in the doorway a moment later and ran to him. “Lock!! What happened!?” He attempted to coax him into sitting up a bit. “You shouldn’t have left bed.” He placed his hand on Sherlock’s forehead again to check his temperature, which was still pretty hot. 

Sherlock closed his eyes as tight as he possibly could to keep from spinning. He let out another dry cough, alerting John to what was wrong.

“Shit, Sherlock, must be vertigo…” He looked back at the night stand but saw now that the glass he had left for Sherlock had apparently broke. “Stay here, I’ll get you something to drink. I’ll be right back.” He smoothed down Sherlock’s hair for a moment in a calming way before reluctantly tearing himself away to grab a new glass. 

Sherlock gasped in more air. In his haze, he wasn’t exactly sure what John had said to him or why he left. He only knew that he needed water and he needed it now. As much as he could possibly get. He held onto the door frame, pulling himself back to his feet before stumbling forward again. This time he managed to catch himself on the hallway wall and followed it down to the next door. Sherlock leaned against the door as he tried to regain his barring. The bathroom of course had water and he was so close now. He didn’t bother flicking the lights on as he felt his way into the darkened room. He tried grasping the hand of the bathtub but couldn’t manage to turn it, his strength feeling fully drained from him. 

“Sherlock!! Damn it!” 

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the cold porcelain of the tub. At least it provided a small amount of relief for him. 

The light flicked on, Sherlock’s eyes instinctively closed to block out the light as he made a strange guttural sound. 

“Shit, you scared the life out of me.” John panted, trying to catch his breath. “Here, drink this.” He leaned down beside Sherlock, a new glass of water in hand.

At those words, Sherlock desperately tried reaching the glass. John had the foresight to pull it away before Sherlock broke that one as well. He must be exceptionally out of it, he figured. 

“Hold on, Lock. Just calm down.” John gently pushed Sherlock’s hands away.

John would just have to do it himself. He pressed the lip of the glass to Sherlock’s lips and tilted it up for him. Sherlock drank it down as fast as possible, chugging every last drop of it. But it wasn’t nearly enough. 

“_John_” Sherlock barely managed to get out, his voice sounding rather croaky. He reached for the bathtub knob again, trying to turn it on, but not making it. 

John sighed, he wasn’t positive that it was the best idea, but perhaps the water could help bring his fever down. “Fine… just take your shirt and trousers off.” He turned the knob on and blocked the drain. 

Before John could stop him, Sherlock stepped into and sat down in the tub, fully dressed. 

John groaned, “Sherlock… I guess I should be glad you’re not wearing shoes at least.” 

Sherlock scooped a hand full of water up and splashed his face with it, letting it soak through his hair. His clothes were soaked, but he didn’t seem to notice. The fingers on his right hand twitched longingly, his tongue darting out a bit. Sherlock’s body reeked with his pain and he just needed some small release. 

“Would you… bring me my cigarettes?” 

John’s eyebrows shot up a bit at that, “You swore you binned them all.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, trying to relax now as the tub filled up more. “You know very well that I lied… but I haven’t smoked a single one. Isn’t that what counts?” 

“Not when you use multiple nicotine patches at once.” John wanted to sound mad, he really did. But it was hard when he was relieved that Sherlock was actually talking to him now. 

“Please?” He looked up at John with pleading eyes. “I wont ask you for anything else, no matter how bad I want it.” He subtly rubbed his inner arm. 

John nodded, Sherlock really was doing his best. “Fine. But only one.” Even though it was against his better judgment. “Where-”

“Left slipper, under my bed.”

“Of course it is.” John should have known. He was definitely tossing those out after this. “I’ll be back.” 

He stood to leave but took another look at his friend. Sherlock seemed somehow thinner then ever. Far too many of his bones were showing through his now see though wet shirt. His hair was a soggy mess of curls. John just wanted to reach out and hold him. He looked so fragile and young, like he needed to be watched and protected. “be safe?” 

Those sea foam eyes gazed back up at him, almost looking lost. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

John nodded and went off to find the cigarettes. They were probably hidden all about the flat. He would have to do a thorough search later. As he grabbed the box from their hiding spot, he spied Sherlock’s phone on the bedside table. Should he call someone? Mycroft perhaps? Perhaps this unexpected illness was the thing that Mycroft had been so worried about. Maybe he was even sick himself and holed in at his town house. John certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. This seemed more serious then just the flu. 

John stuffed the whole pack in his pocket before retuning to the bath, only planning on offering Sherlock one of them. 

The water in the tub was smooth as glass an undisturbed. Sherlock lay at the bottom motionless, eyes closed. John didn’t think, merely acted. He pulled Sherlock up as fast as he could, already prepared to perform CPR on him. But as soon as Sherlock was out of the water, his eyes snapped opened and he jolted away. 

“JOHN! What are you-”

“FUCK!” John’s heart was racing. “What the hell were you doing!? I thought you bloody died!” 

“I’m sorry, I… I just needed to.” He couldn’t quite explain it, but he finally didn’t feel so overwhelmingly dried out. 

Something fluttered just beneath Sherlock’s shirt, rippling the fabric under the water. John had barely caught the movement from the edge of his vision. He let his hand dip below the surface and hovered just above the material. 

“John?” Sherlock looked at his hand curiously, unaware of the moment. 

“I… we need to take this off.” John undid Sherlock’s shirt, it needed to be dried now anyway. 

“Its fine, just leave it.” Sherlock reached for the pack in John’s pocket. 

John helped him pull one out. Luckily there was a light on the sink from where he occasionally lit candles. “I’m only letting you have one.” He lit it for him. “But it’s not fine. You need to take your damn clothes off before you get sicker.” He reached for the hem of the shirt.

Sherlock’s hand moved quickly to hold the shirt edge in place. “John! Please.” 

John sighed, “Fine. But you’ll have to take it off before you’re out.” This was ridiculous but he didn’t want to work Sherlock up anymore then he had to. “Does this happen a lot? This fever or whatever it is?” He was ready to go full doctor mode. 

Sherlock merely shook his head. “No.”

John’s brow furrowed. “But… Mycroft thought it might?”

“More or less.” He took his first drag of the cigarette and violently leaned forward coughing. It was far too much. He felt like he was suffocating. 

“Whoa! Hold on!” John flicked the cigarette away from him and tried to hold him up. 

Sherlock instead dived his head back under the water, letting the air press out of his nose. That was better. He could breath much easier like this, though he wasn’t sure how. 

“You’re gonna bloody drown!” Why was his flatmate so intent on making his life hard? 

John grabbed Sherlock’s waist to pull him upright again, but as soon as he touched him he let ago. Sherlock squirmed at the touch as well and re surfaced. Water poured from his face. 

“Shit… Seriously, you’re going to drown, stop it.” His eyes fell down to where he felt something strange on Sherlock. 

Sherlock had the same thought. They could both clearly see where his shirt was fluttering beneath the water. It had felt like a deep laceration to John, but there was no blood. Had he cut himself on the glass earlier? His shirt certainly wasn’t torn. 

“I’m just going to check if you’re hurt.” John went for the hem of the shirt again, but Sherlock held it firmly in place. “Come off it! You’re clearly not alright and you might be really hurt!”

“Just… Let me look first?” Sherlock had no idea what he might find there, but he had a pretty good suspicion. 

“I’m just trying to help you.” John crossed his arms, totally pissed off, but looked away. 

Sherlock’s hands were shaking as he lifted the shirt, making sure John wasn’t looking. His skin looked slashed to ribbons on his side. He carefully ran his fingers over the 3 slits. They merely fluttered at the touch. There was no pain. There were three more on the other side.

Gills. He had fucking gills. 

“Well?” John turned back to look just as Sherlock pulled the white fabric back down. 

“Its nothing. I’m fine.”

John rolled his eyes. “Do you seriously think I’m going to just take your word for it?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” He attempted his best innocent look, which only gained him a smirk from John. 

“Not for a damn second.” 

Sherlock sighed. Then there was no helping it. He tossed the soaked shirt to the side, it already felt easier to breath in the water. 

“SHIT.” John’s eyes had gone huge as he gripped the tub to get closer. “Does is it hurt?! Fuck, what happened??” He was getting his own shirt wet now as he carefully pressed his fingers to Sherlock’s skin, trying to gage how bad the damage was. 

“I’m not-“ Sherlock groaned. How could possibly explain this to John? A medical professional at that? “They’re not wounds. I didn’t get cut.” 

“There’s no blood but… they’re not old cuts, are they?” He was pretty sure they wouldn’t look like this healed, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense either way. 

“Just watch.” Sherlock went back below the water, letting all his breath out. 

John desperately wanted to pull him back up, but he told himself to least see whatever the hell it was that Sherlock was talking about. 

The slits opened and closed on their own in a rythmatic pattern. John looked at the wall clock. Sherlock still hadn’t come up for air, but he could see his eyes were watching him through the water. 

“That’s not…” John gently ran his fingers over the slits. “That’s not possible.” He pressed a bit against Sherlock’s ribs. There was a significant amount of give to them. Possibly more then he had ever felt on someone before. 

“Does that… hurt?” John watched Sherlock’s face carefully. 

He shook his head no. It was strange, certainly not something he had felt before. Sherlock flexed his hands, they felt normal at least. 

“Ok, seriously, what the hell? You’ve been under water for five minutes and you’re not dead. Are you…” He felt like this was going to be the stupidest thing he ever said. “Are you a mermaid?” 

Sherlock sat up at that, laughing harder then ever. “A mermaid? Are you serious?” He laughed some more.

“Well-! I don’t know! Are you seriously breathing under there?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Its… nice. Better then air, honestly. Also, I think mermaids are only female.” 

“Merman then?” What was the neutral term? Merfolk? 

“Do I look like I have a fish tail?” 

John poked at Sherlock’s soaked pajama pants. “Then… what are you?” 

Sherlock’s face fell at that. 

“I’m sorry, sorry. That didn’t really come out right.” He couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock seemed nearly as surprised as he did. So he didn’t know this was going to happen then? “Do you have any idea why you might have… er-“

“I think they’re gills.” 

“Jesus… Well, why the hell do you have gills?”

“I might know.” Sherlock’s eyes slid away. 

“It would be helpful if you filled me in. Seriously, anything would help me out here.” John blinked. The gills had only come out because Sherlock was in water. He was behaving like a fever-ridden person. Was it the storm? Was this what Mycroft had warned him about?

“Is this what Mycroft showed you?! Does he have gills too?” He whispered that last part. 

“Not that I know of.” Sherlock had no idea this was going to happen, his brother had certainly never warned him about it. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? How do you not know!?”

“Well I’ve never seen them! I’d imagine he has a dick too, but I’ve never seen that either.” 

John sighed, He wasn’t looking forward to a conversation where he had to ask Mycroft blood Holmes is he had gills or not. So much for people thinking all politicians were reptilians. John furrowed his brow. Were there reptilians?? He would have to revisit this thought later. 

“But then, what did he show you the other day?” 

Sherlock swallowed. 

“You’re shirtless in a the bath under me with your gills fluttering. What more could you possibly be hiding?” John deadpanned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, comment! :D
> 
> If you see a typo, tell me D:


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cant believe I wrote this weeks and weeks ago and forgot to post it

Chapter 8

Sherlock looked down at himself. He certainly didn’t see any additional limbs. Perhaps it wouldn’t happen to him? Though, he hadn’t checked everywhere just yet. He went to remove his pajama bottoms when John flushed and turned away. 

“Er, that’s not really what I meant.” 

“Feeling less curious?” Sherlock mused, chucking the soaking fabric out of the bath and onto the tile floor. Only his briefs remained. 

John glanced over, seeing Sherlock definitely still had two legs. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, like I’ve lost my bloody mind I suppose.” Some movement caught the corner of his eye. There was something dark in the water, though he wasn’t sure what. John’s body reacted before he could, jolting away from the bath as fast as he could in sheer panic. He struck his head on the porcelain base of the sink causing a loud thud.

Sherlock quickly rose, “John!” He immediately sank back down, seeing now what John must have noticed. 

“Shit.” John’s eyes were clenched shut, his hands holding the back of his head were he hit himself. “Sorry, I dunno what happened.” He grit his teeth hard, willing himself through the pain. 

Sherlock knew exactly what happened. He wasn’t sure when they had appeared, but two tendrils were now feeling their way around the inner walls of the tub curiously. His head felt strangely heavy now making it harder to think. He could feel everything the limbs touched, though it was certainly different from touching something with his own hands. 

“John?” He could hear his own voice buzzing strangely, as if it was cutting through sound waves in a different manner. 

John looked up at that, hand still on his head. “Lock, your eyes-” They were like before, pupils dilated far too much to be normal. 

Sherlock’s hands slowly went up towards his face but stopped. Everything was hazy. He just needed to focus, he told himself. He desperately wanted to tell John to stay where he was, but the words weren’t coming out. His body began sinking lower into the water of its own accord. 

“Hold on, I’m not sure you’re ok,” John drew closer and peered back inside the tub. “Try to stay with me?” He had realized that Sherlock may not be entirely aware of what was happening just now. 

As John’s hands went for the water, Sherlock saw his chance. Pitch black tentacles shot forward, wrapping firmly around John’s wrists. John’s instincts kicked in again as he tried pulling away. Sherlock’s chest hit the side of the bath, splashing a large amount of water onto the floor and winding him in the process. 

Sherlock’s eyes cleared a bit. He felt like he was being pulled in half when he tugged his tentacles closer. John stumbled to his knees, wrists still bound. 

John instinctively looked at the sink were a straight edge razor had been left. Sherlock’s eyes followed his gaze and in seconds the coils loosened and retreated. John considered grabbing it still but didn’t want to resort to violence just yet. 

John rose to his feet, “Don’t you dare move.” 

Sherlock shrank back a bit, tentacles hidden in the water now. 

“I know you might not be all there,” He took a deep breath to steady himself. It was just Sherlock, but with those dreams he had been having, it seemed anything with water made him jumpy. 

Sherlock’s hands fisted at his sides. So this was what Mycroft was warning him about. What was he even going to do if he succeeded with John?! He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He rose up, making the water jostle even more. 

John stepped back, hand reaching for the razor. 

The taller man merely stepped out through the door, water pooling beneath ever foot step. 

“Oi! Where are you going?” John dropped the razor, feeling like a total ass for even picking it up. 

Sherlock’s head felt clouded again as he went to his room. He pulled on a shirt left over a chair and grabbed a pair of trousers. 

“Hey! Listen, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” John’s eyes flicked to where the two long appendages were hanging awkwardly from the bottom of Sherlock’s shirt. “We’re going to figure this out.” When he got no reply, he looked back up to his friend’s eyes. Black. Shit. 

Sherlock merely pushed past him, gently shoving John a bit as he walked back out. 

Not really what John was expecting. “Uh, Sherlock?” It was still him, wasn’t it? 

He put on his coat with rough movements, his feet still bare. 

“You’re not going out are you?” John hurried to step ahead, blocking Sherlock from the door of the flat. “There’s a storm out, if you don’t remember! Besides, you’re in no state to-” 

Sherlock slammed his hand against the wall near John’s head and drew closer. His eye’s consumed by blackness. “I will do as I please.” His voice seethed. 

“Its not safe…” John swallowed, feeling something coil around his waist. 

“I know,” Sherlock’s voice was a bit softer at that. 

John cupped the sides of Sherlock’s face, gently making his friend look at him. “We’ll just stay here then. I can look after you, it will be fine.” 

“Look at me.” Sherlock’s eyes were clearing, but still dark. “I’m a monster. I’m going to hurt you if I stay here any longer.” 

John sighed, “You haven’t yet, doesn’t that count for something?” Somehow, the though of Sherlock outside in the storm was far worse then being locked up in the flat with him fighting off tentacles. He gently placed his hands on the coiled limb around his waist. “You can control this.” 

Sherlock’s breath was a bit erratic, his attention split between John and the ever constant pattering of rain that seemed to be picking up. 

John found the tapered edge of the tentacle and slowly started to pry it off. The grip immediately loosened, Sherlock’s full attention on the rain now. “We can get you everything you need, food, water, whatever. Just stay here with me?” He made the mistake of stroking his hand a bit over tentacle’s tip. 

Sherlock took in a sudden sharp breath, leaning closer into John. 

“Er, sorry.” He squeezed it a bit in surprise, finding it strangely thicker now. 

“Joooohn.” Sherlock moaned, his features pinking a bit. He clenched his teeth hard and pulled the tentacle away. This was too much. There was a part that wanted to stay, even just to be tucked away safely and trust John that it would be ok. But he knew he couldn’t trust himself. Not until he knew more about what was happening to him at least. He tried hard to pull away but couldn’t. John’s scent was intoxicating. 

John was rather red himself. He seriously hoped he was mistaken, but that moan was down right sexual and he found himself shifting awkwardly from their close approximation. “I didn’t realize- I wasn’t trying to-”

Sherlock’s teeth gently grazed John’s neck, making the shorter man freeze. “I need to bite you. I have to.” The detective was near tears. He didn’t want to force himself upon someone like this. He wasn’t a predator. Yet he was intently scenting John’s neck all the same. 

John was very uncomfortably hard at that. “What? Why?” He told himself it was just his body’s reaction to stress. 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock whispered, tongue jetting out just a bit over John’s skin. 

“Ahhh- You’re not going to eat me or something are you?” 

“No. Just bite. One bite. I need to John. I have to.” He was pulling John closer without realizing it. “It would hurt.” He knew if he did, he was going to sink all the way in. 

“But why? Are you going to poison me or something?” John was squirming to hide his erection, but Sherlock was making it near impossible. Sherlock’s damn teeth kept grazing his skin and he could tell without looking that they far sharper then a human’s. 

“Not poison.” Everything was so hazy. “Just claim.” 

John was nearly rutting against Sherlock’s leg. “Fuck, just do it then.”

A sharp jabbing pain filled John, the majority of his body going limp at that. Sherlock pressed him up against the wall and with nowhere for John’s feet to find flooring, he wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist. John’s hand flew to his neck after Sherlock pulled back. 

“Ok, that was actually really painful.” There was a bit of blood, but not nearly as much as he expected and it seemed to already be stopping. “Are you staying now?” He looked at Sherlock hopefully, ignoring the solid black eyes. 

“I’ll come back.” He promised in that odd buzzing voice. 

“Please Sherlock. Just stay?”

Sherlock smirked and brought a hand between them, pressing pointedly at John’s erection. “For this?” 

John went bright red, “That’s not for you!!” He huffed, finally detaching from the detective and regaining his footing. He had to remind himself again that there was no way Sherlock really knew what he was saying or doing. 

“I think it is for me.” Sherlock mused. “You let me have you, let me claim you.” He sniffed John’s hair deeply. 

“Let you…” It dawned on him, “You know more about this when you’re like this. Tell me whatever you need for you to stay here, I’ll get it, I promise.”

Sherlock had an intent look for a moment. “Food.” It was hard to concentrate, he just knew he had to leave and gather supplies. They already had shelter. 

“We have food, plenty.” John sighed, not sure what to say to get him to stay. 

“We’ll need more,” They didn’t have enough yet. 

John blinked. They had a whole kitchen full of stuff. “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat now if you like?”

Sherlock cocked his head, not understanding for a moment. “It’s not for me.”

“Right… Er, what’s it for then?” John really wished that things would start making sense. He tried lowering his legs from around Sherlock’s waist, but those inky black tentacles were holding them in place now, making him desperately want to squirm away. Especially with his damnable erection. 

Sherlock smirked knowingly. His instincts were an absolute mess right now, both telling him to stay and leave at the same time. But the more he thought on it he knew that staying would only lead to one thing, forcing himself on John. The tentacles undulated all over his friend’s smaller body. He had never desired anything so badly in his life. “I have to, please.” The tentacles squeezed John in every direction. It would be so easy to take him now. Forced him down and fill him with every tentacle he had. Sherlock’s eyes were darkening, his grip on himself fading. 

“Get dressed properly,” John said in a shaking voice, loosing his composure. He knew that somehow Sherlock wasn’t safe to be around. But he could at least keep him from getting sick for real. 

Sherlock released him, causing John to awkwardly drop to his feet with a little ‘oof.’ He was out the door soon enough, dressed a bit better for the weather. John couldn’t help but to think that he really shouldn’t have let him go.


End file.
